Just Before the Dawn, aka The Moment
by OneDarkandStormyNight
Summary: Merlin has dreamed of this moment since he discovered his destiny. As Camelot is once again on the verge of falling, he has no choice but to reveal what he is to Arthur...no matter if either of them is prepared to face the reality of it. Big Reveal fic.
1. Chapter 1

_So earlier today, I happened to read where they say Merlin is going to reveal his magic and take his rightful place as Court Sorcerer and/or King's Advisor in Season Five...and that was enough to get me finishing this fic I've been working on for the past few days. Don't know about you, but I personally can't wait to actually see the look on Arthur's face when it all goes down. *taps foot anxiously awaiting Season 5*  
Of course, everyone has their own idea of what the "big reveal" will be, and I know I've already written one major fic on it, but hey, that's what the mystery is for, right? You get a dozen ideas formulated, and in the end, it'll probably be nothing like what you expected.  
Either way, this is my own action-packed, emotionally-charged version of the Big Reveal Episode, which actually comes in toward the end of said "episode," because I'm entirely too lazy to write a full one when all I care about is the ending.  
Also, I have no distinct time frame for this fic; since I know next to nothing about Season 5, let's just say that it's definitely set after Season 4, and in a time when Mordred is known to be evil and sided with Morgana, as well as the white dragon, Aithusa. Not too far into the future, though; less two years after the S-4 finale? You can decide. _

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**Chapter i**

"_Merlin!"_

A scream, grating and clearly terrified—no matter how the noble king wished to hide his fear from his men—echoed across the field even louder than the noise of beating wings coming from somewhere, _everywhere_, overhead.

He twisted his body toward the direction of the cry, pushing himself up from where he had so violently crashed upon the cold, damp earth. It was disorienting, so many sensations arresting him at once—the scent of rain-soaked grass perfuming the air, the feel of gritty dirt between his fingers and in his hair and caking onto his dripping clothes, the vision of jumbled movements in the darkness, the flash of moonlight on wet armour, a hand of authority beckoning all who could see him to follow to the city gates; more than any of it, however, was the _noise_.

A screech a thousand times lower and more powerful than an owl's tore through his head, and he thought he saw something white as ebony dash around him in the black of the night sky, but he did not halt to catch another glimpse. Instead, he threw himself forward, to where their leader stood at the top of the hill, his feet positioned, ready to dash off as soon as his hard, blue eyes saw his men to safety with him.

Merlin half-stumbled up the slick embankment, nearly stumbling again before Arthur saw him, grabbed his scrawny wrist in an unbreakable hold, and dragged him with him, even as two more of the knights—_Elyan and Gwaine?_—passed them in the obscure light of the full moon.

They were mere footsteps from the gate of Camelot when the dragon reached them.

Merlin had imagined it would be different. He had imagined it more often than he probably ought, envisioned the most desirable of circumstances, the most craved of reactions; he had fantasized about this moment in his mind since the hour he had discovered his destiny, meditated on it since he had first saved the prince's life, even dreamed about it on occasion.

He had contemplated every word he would say, every story he would tell, every reason he would offer for his silence and his untruthfulness.

When moment finally came, it never happened for him to use any of it.

He looked once into the burning gold of Aithusa's eyes, then once into the endless blue of Arthur's, feeling everything for the barest of moments—most clearly, the painful grip of calloused fingers around his left wrist—and he knew within his heart that the time had come, whether either of them was prepared or not.

"_Scildan!"_

It was several seconds of time before Arthur realized the fire spewing forth from the white dragon's throat was not touching them, and Merlin…_Merlin's_ right hand was outstretched, and he was not looking at him, but ahead at the dragon through the invisible shield between them…and yet Arthur could still see the glowing-gold rings of his eyes in the night.

He released Merlin's wrist.

The heatless light of the dragon's fire disappeared suddenly from around them, and the shimmering shield vanished with it; it was not a heartbeat before Merlin's voice was speaking, like growls and hisses of a monster, in a tongue incomprehensible to the mortal men, eyes fixed upon the beast hovering in the starless sky ahead.

"_Non didlkai! Kari miss, epsipass imalla krat! Katostar abore ceriss! Katicur. Me ta sentende divoless. Kar krisass!__S'enthend' apokhorein nun epello."_

The pearl dragon coiled once in the empty, humid air, a roar like the sound of pure fury escaping him, before he arced away into the night sky. In bare seconds, the resounding beat of his wings was the only hint of his fleeting presence.

Merlin's head spun slightly, the force of power dying down again within him like a violent wave of the sea as it sensed the dragon's spirit no longer close by. Like a rapture fading, the night seemed to flood around him again, the sound of scantly-falling raindrops and the smell of burnt grass filling his senses after the capturing magic had whispered away, back into that secret part of his soul.

It was then that the reality of what he had done assailed him.

He forced his panicked gasp to convert to a calming exhalation, for after all this time, all this endless waiting, the time had finally come, and he could do nothing now but accept his fate.

Merlin planted his feet more firmly on the loose, wet dirt, his breaths harsh and labored in his ears as his eyes moved to each man around him in succession, to the matching astonishment and disbelief which painted upon each different face the same, terrible, wonderful expression.

None of the four quickest knights of Camelot could even think to reach for their swords in the aftershock of it.

Merlin, though they were his friends, gave them scarcely a thought of consideration, for there was only one man who mattered to him now.

The pounding of his heart in his chest stuttered at the flash of silver beside him, and he spun instinctively so that the two of them faced one another.

At the fright fleeting across the colorless face of his manservant, Arthur clutched the hilt of Excalibur only tighter in his hand, his knuckles white as bone. The relentless blue of his eyes gleamed, almost like two, identical gemstones, above the glitter of rain-water on the blade he held level with Merlin's heart.

"Arthur..."

Merlin cursed his own voice for breaking his throat, despite its quiet calmness. Even while he scrambled in his mind for what he could say to him, how he could put it into words that would make Arthur _understand_ as quickly and certainly as possible, he held himself upright, his narrow shoulders rigid and his gaze even with the king's. If there was one sure thing he must refuse now to do, it was to crumble; it was not in his blood to cower.

"Arthur,"—It was nearly a whisper, but he pressed on with daring obstinacy.—"please, you must hear me out. Let me explain. Just _listen to me_, Arthur, and you will understand everything…I _swear_."

The rain began to spatter from the sky in drops as big as grape-seeds, sounding like silver coins clinking together as they struck the already-soaked earth and shattered all around the six men standing exposed to them. In the otherwise perfect silence, each of the four others raised his own sword, and then Merlin was trapped like a common prey between them.

He did not fight, however, or argue against the knights who had been his friends until mere seconds ago; instead, he only pled silently, beseeching his master with his eyes, for if he could only get Arthur to _listen_ to his own heart telling him the truth he already knew, deep within, then perhaps they could come through this without pain. Perhaps he could see past the lies, past the betrayal, and even past the magic itself, and see that the Merlin he knew was no different; perhaps….

"_Seize him_."

His blood ran cold at the frigid order, and his hopes cut off as he saw it written plainly across the king's face. Acceptance. It was not the acceptance Merlin craved, however; this was the acceptance which he had feared since the first. This was the dead Uther's voice in his son's mind, whispering his ideals to him, this lightning-quick thought which had been pounded into every part of him since his birth, the one which led him from _Sorcerer _to only one conclusion, without any hesitation.

_Evil_.

Even as Leon and Gwaine grasped his arms on either side, twisting them painfully behind his back in a clear message, he exclaimed without considering it, his own desperation—for himself, for the failing security of Camelot, and for Arthur—driving the words from his chest.

"No! Arthur, please. You don't understand."

Arthur turned his back toward him, sliding his blade back into its sheath.

"Arthur, _listen to me_!"

His shoulder was jarred as he was shoved violently forward.

"Quiet," barked Leon's voice in his ear, and though he had considered this as a thinkable consequence, he had always prayed it would never come true.

It was futile, he soon realized, to plead to be heard, for Arthur paid him no heed as he was half-dragged through the gate, past the broken wagons and darkened houses which were all product of Morgana's warring upon them, and Merlin could see Uther in Arthur's every measured step, in the solemn tenseness of Arthur's body, and for a brief moment, in the overwhelming feel of night, he thought that it _was_ Uther leading him to his trial, until the saw the flicker of firelight from a torch in the blonde hair.

Once perceptive glance to Gwaine on his right, and he knew his fate rested solely upon Arthur's verdict.

He said not another word as he was pulled into the dark coolness of the empty throne room. By now, the bright, pale moon had resurfaced from behind the storm clouds, sending its alabaster rays cutting into the dark of the place and illuminating their plight like the gods were watching it unfold from the heavens.

Arthur walked to the double thrones, pressing his hand against the top of the one belonging to his queen, and despite the sensation of doom lingering in the atmosphere all around him, Merlin implored silently that Gwen would be kept unharmed with Gaius beneath the city, no matter what become of them here above.

He was pushed harshly to his knees. He allowed it. There were a few endless heartbeats of silence, and then, as stonily as the gray walls around them,

"Leave us."

He felt the nearly palpable doubt from the two loyal men who held his shoulders down on either side, and it almost sickened him to think that they feared leaving their king alone with him.

"I said, _leave us_."

The ache in his shoulders was relieved as Leon and Gwaine released his shoulders, and then their footsteps—along with Percival's and Elyan's—echoed hollowly in the black corners of the place before the thick doors shut behind them.

He did not stand. He waited, hands in his lap but head held up to face his master with all the courage and calmness he possessed.

"I wanted to tell you," he said at length, his voice a quiet whisper in the utter stillness. "Believe me, Arthur, I did."

The king turned slowly to him, and for the unresolved dimness of the room, Merlin could not fathom his countenance to read it, but when the grave king took two heavy steps toward where he was bowed, the question he asked was not one he anticipated.

"Who are you?"

It took the young warlock several seconds' time to realize what he meant by it.

"It's me, Arthur. I'm Merlin," answered he, and it was less of a fight than he imagined it would be to keep his voice low and tranquil.

Another step, and then the flashing of Arthur's eyes was clear in the pale glow which cut into the crevices of his handsome face from the open window, and the rage in his voice was as clear as the rumbling thunder outside; though, Merlin decided, he preferred the rage, for at least it meant the king was not entirely fallen to his father's cold and unfeeling temperament.

"_Do not lie to me_." A low hiss. "You are a sorcerer."

More quiet; then,

"I am."

To be admitting it here, in this throne room, before _Arthur_, sent his heart fluttering up the side of his neck.

"Then you cannot be Merlin."

It was only a black game they were playing, a roundabout routine before it all settled and they must react one way or another. The king was mere steps from him now, and while a dark, heavy turmoil riled in Merlin, he still was not afraid, because this was Arthur, and he knew that his Arthur was good and just, and whatever fate lay ahead for him would be so.

"The Merlin I know," Arthur continued, his face set like flint while his voice shook with his own shaking emotions, "has seen the destruction magic brings and loathes it as much as I."

"You're wrong," Merlin declared before the man could continue. "I've never said that, Arthur."

In his distress, he pushed himself to stand so that their eyes were even.

"Magic is not evil," he went on, and they were not king and servant any longer, but just Arthur and Merlin, friends desperately trying to comprehend one another. "Magic has saved us all more times than you could imagine. It was magic which saved us just now from the dragon. Don't you see, Arthur? I'm not what you think…"

"_Magic_," hissed as though it was a poison just to speak it aloud, "has caused more pain and sorrow to me and to my people than anything else in this world."

Now, he slid Excalibur from its sheath again with an echoing screech which rivaled Aithusa's in the great room, holding it again at the heart of his servant. Though this time, it trembled.

Merlin looked silently into the livid blue eyes until he was sure Arthur was looking back at him.

"I'm not like her, sire. My magic is nothing like hers."

Perhaps it was the intensity of his posture, or the confidence with which he said it, but his words only served to flare Arthur's temper all the more, and so quickly he could not hope to sidestep him, Arthur shoved Merlin violently into the hard, gray pillar behind him. His dark head struck the cold stone sharply enough to scatter sparks in his vision, and the sword gleamed at his pale throat above the muddy scarf.

The king's eyes were like a roiling ocean; the grimace of his face could only be described as _Uther_.

"Tell me," he growled, but there was helplessness in his timbre now, a lost sort of fragility that no one but Merlin, who knew him better than any man, could have heard behind the wall of strength and power, "tell me, Merlin, you have not been lying to me all these years."

Merlin felt his eyes waver, for that was the one thing he could never promise his friend. No matter his reasons, he had lied, and he knew it.

"I can't," he whispered, but his gaze remained steady on Arthur's, accepting of his sins.

Arthur's teeth clenched together, his breaths coming out in short, hot rasps, eyes set aflame as Merlin's cool ones bore into them. His arm pressed further into Merlin's chest, the blade moving the barest length to push against his white throat—not enough to draw blood, not yet.

"You said you were my friend."

It sounded as though it would have been a roar were it not so soft.

"I _am_ your friend—"

"You said you were loyal to me."

Merlin's heart began to beat faster again; this time it was not for his anxiety as much as it was the pain in Arthur's gaze.

"I _am_, Arthur. You are my king. It was only for you that I was even created—"

"Why, Merlin?"

Arthur did not let him finish, and the anew brokenness of his voice sent the young sorcerer to silence. Merlin could only stand, wordless, as the solid arm pressed against his chest shook, the discomfort of the blade having fallen from his neck to his shoulder without either of them realizing it, the sapphire eyes watching him turned dejected-blue with something between despair and resentment.

"Why have you done this?" For one, horrifying moment, Merlin feared the tears brimming in his voice would spill from his eyes, but it never happened. "Why have you betrayed me this way?"

The warlock swallowed, sorrow in him coming to answer Arthur's without his control, because even his otherworldly magic recognized that their king had been hurt so many times—too many—by those he loved, and always, all because of magic. It was cruel and unfair that he should suffer again without any cause at all.

"I have not betrayed you," he said in a quiet murmur, desperate to take the pain of his friend away with the truth. "I never did, Arthur. I've been there with you, through it all. You must _think_, Arthur. Use what you know—you _know_ me. You know that I'm your servant, and your subject, and more than any of that, I'm your friend. Why would I still be here if I wasn't?"

Arthur's countenance wavered the barest trace, his miserable eyes flitting down to Merlin's scarf and clouding with a dark hint of doubt, but that was all that Merlin needed to continue. In his excitement, he pushed off from the column a bit, but kept his hands firmly at his sides, not daring to move them for fear of Arthur's feeling threatened by the magic his fingers held.

"You know me, sire," he murmured gently, and for one moment, the mask in the king's sapphire eyes flickered away altogether. "Just because you know this about me doesn't change that. I never lied to you about _who_ I am—only what I am."

Before he had the chance to utter another word, a clatter sounded on the rooftop above them, like of the solid rock of the castle cracking under strain, and a shower of stone-dust drifted to the floor behind the thrones.

It was then that Merlin felt a strange, potent magic seeping into his senses through the open windows, alerting him suddenly of the great threat which still loomed over the city, and of the terrible foes Camelot would face—_tonight_. She was coming.

"Arthur." His voice was saturated with urgency as the vile magic grew stronger in the air; he inhaled it through his nostrils and tasted it on his tongue. "I can stop them. I know what to do."

Arthur's eyes looked to the floor in deep contemplation.

"Let me help you stop them," Merlin pled on. "Let me prove myself to you, Arthur. Let me show you what _good_ magic can do."

Another long moment of breathless quiet, apart from more trembles of the walls and soft falls of dust from the rafters. Then, Arthur's face rose again to his, and Merlin felt his own demeanor fall to abjection at the sight.

"You are a liar_._"

Merlin felt his breath stutter in his chest, for Arthur's voice was icy and absolute in his ruling.

"No, Arthur…"

"You're a traitor," he went on as though Merlin had never spoken, as if Merlin's sorrowed-blue eyes were not pleading with him silently. "How can I ever believe another word you tell me, Merlin? How can I know that you will not unite with Morgana if I let you go free?"

"I'm _not_ a traitor, Arthur!" Merlin nearly shouted, cutting off the king with the unexpectedness of it, pulling free of Arthur's grasp and stumbling back. "I would never join with her. Look_ inside_ yourself. You _know_ me…."

"You are a filthy sorcerer," was the only answer, spat like lye from his mouth. "Corrupted by the magic you have chosen to practice. I cannot trust you, Merlin, never again."

"You don't understand what you're saying, Arthur," Merlin told him, regaining his strength and composure even as the betrayal filled the king's eyes again and controlled him, wounding himself with his own verdict. "I wanted to tell you. So many times, I came close to explaining everything, but I never could."

He stepped forward again, unafraid of the sword still ready in Arthur's right hand.

"You need me now," he told him with intensity strong in his every feature. "Let me fight this battle with you, sire, just like I have all the others. Please, let me help you save your people. You yourself have said you have nothing to answer her power. You have _me_."

Arthur's countenance never faltered again; his eyes only narrowed as he shouted toward the heavy oak doors.

"Men!"

"Arthur—"

The king grasped his wrist in a vice-like grip as he reached out, and Merlin gasped with startlement, instinctively trying to free himself, but to no avail.

Arthur stepped forward so that they were mere inches apart, his eyes as dark as the sky.

"You will be lucky to escape with your life for the lies you've told," he murmured, quiet in his rage; he twisted Merlin's wrist tighter. "_If_ I let you live, you will be banished from Camelot forevermore."

"No, Arthur, you must hear me out—"

"I wish with all my heart that I had never met you, Merlin."

The warlock was stunned at that, and he knew, looking into his face in that moment, that his master meant every word, and that petrified him as nothing else had ever done. No matter what the outcome was on this night, he would be cast away from his destiny for the secrets he had kept hidden. Arthur would never know him for who he fully was; they would neither of them know what it felt like to be truly free.

When the king turned his eyes away from him like a final word, Merlin had the strength to struggle only slightly as he was dragged away from the room and toward the lonely dungeons.

The instant the doors reclosed again, the hand holding Excalibur shook so violently—not only with anger, but with something else as well—that Arthur nearly dropped it before he recovered himself. It did not keep his eyes from dimming as the deceiving sound of Merlin's begging echoed hauntingly through his mind.

**To be continued**

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_As you might be able to tell (then again, maybe not), I'm trying to keep the pace and mood as closely related to the show as possible. Let me know how I'm doing, and I'd really like to know the readers' opinions on how this chapter went, since it is, y'know, the MOST IMPORTANT MOMENT EVER IN THE HISTORY OF MERLIN, and all.  
If you didn't like it at all, keep in mind that I _could be_ a fragile-spirited little redhead...Okay, fine, let's face it; there are no fragile-spirited redheads...Still, I really hope you enjoyed it, and there is more coming soon, depending on how fast I can get reviews out of you...  
(Oh, and there will be a happy ending. Just thought I'd make that clear in case you were worried.)_


	2. Chapter 2

_Before you start on the chapter, let me just thank every single one of my reviewers! I'm so glad you all seem to be enjoying this fic; you are the best people in the world for inspiring smiles. Really quick, I have just two things to mention:  
A couple of you asked how I found out (what little I know) about Season 5. I got it from this video on YouTube (just erase the spaces between): h t t p : / / w w w . y o u t u b e . c o m / w a t c h ? v = M _ Q I 4 2 Y p l O 8  
**Lady Willamina** made an observation that actually made me laugh when I read it. I have another dragon for a character, in an original story of mine; he's a black dragon, and I have no idea why, but my fingers evidently thought I was referring to him at one point in Chapter i. I won't change it, for the simple reason that I think mistakes make stories more fun, but I had to give her a shout-out for picking up on that._

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**Chapter ii**

As more shudders and creaks from the wicked magic made the walls around them groan, Merlin struggled fruitlessly in Leon's and Gwaine's grasps. He did not struggle for escape, however, for had he wanted, he could have done so without even a word; no, he struggled to be heard, for his warnings to be heeded.

"Listen to me," said he as they pushed him before them down the steep flight of stairs to the lowest part of the dungeons. "She'll destroy all of Camelot!"

He received no answer but to be shoved forward until he almost stumbled, down another long, dark corridor, to a great, oak door.

He had heard tales from Gaius of the sorcerers' dungeon. Built special by Uther at the start of the Great Purge, it was nothing but a dank pit with not a window or door save for the one in the top, into which the prisoners were thrown. It was dark as night in the bottom, the solemn physician had said, and cold; its only redemption was that the captives—sorcerers too dangerous and clever to be kept in the regular dungeons—spent only one night here. Then, their relief was limited; it was only to be hauled to execution.

Still, Merlin did not try to flee. He must face it, he knew; he must stay, and hope that his pure-hearted friend would see and understand _why_. Whatever happened now, he could not worsen what chance he had for a future here by running away from the present, no matter how lightless and distraught it felt all around him. Whatever came, he would face it with all the strength and clemency with which he had always done…even when Arthur's truly enraged voice was lingering in the back of his mind, and the leery and uneasy looks of the knights were burning into his memory forever.

"Gwaine," he murmured huskily, as a rough Leon crossed his wrists behind his back and the chains snapped around them.

His once-smiling friend did not raise his umber eyes from where they watched his fellow-knight tighten the shackles, but his dark brows remained furrowed together in unspoken tension.

"Try to understand," the young sorcerer went on, and they would not realize that it was not selfishness which prompted him to speak, but he did anyway. "I'm not one of them. You know that."

Abruptly, the knight's head snapped up, his gaze meeting Merlin's, and his only answer was uncommonly callous, and nothing like he had ever spoken to him before.

"Try telling it to the rats, Merlin," said he crudely. "Maybe they'll believe you, since you haven't lied to them yet."

It was Merlin who averted his eyes now, for he _had_ lied—to them all, and whatever they held against him for it was justified; he could not deny that.

Leon did not utter a sound, but was only a grim presence behind the sorcerer's back, until a wide, square door in the dust-covered, stone floor was flipped open.

Merlin cast one, last, desperate glance to his old friend, but Gwaine never blinked as Leon unceremoniously gave the smaller man a final shove. Merlin cried out in startlement—a brief, sharp cry—before his body hit the straw-scattered ground in the pit below, and he went silent and limp in the center of it.

Gwaine, when he saw how Merlin's slim body crumpled lifelessly, looking so small and eerily still, his tawny eyes softened with compassion. _If only_, he thought, _if you'd just told us before now…_. If he had said something, on one of those times when the two of them were alone—during Arthur's quest, or rescuing Gaius—he would have laughed, he knew; he would have grinned and asked the servant to teach him a quick trick to woo a lady. He would have promised never to tell a soul, and sworn inside to keep his friend safe from the laws of Camelot.

Even now, he considered rolling down the rope kept in the place and releasing the young servant, despite what punishment it might bring upon his head.

Then, he recalled why they were here. The image of Merlin's flaming eyes and his deep and gravelly voice warning away the dragon flashed through his mind, and with that came the realization that Merlin was not as innocent and vulnerable as he appeared. The brave knight knew to whom he was first loyal—to his King, his friend, Arthur—and so he turned away, allowing Leon to pull the heavy lid over the cell, leaving the sorcerer in absolute darkness when he awoke.

Both men never voiced it aloud, but they fought the unnatural, twisting guilt within themselves until they reached the throne room again.

Morgana's army attacked at the midnight bell.

Three times during the ensuing battle, Arthur turned to shout for Merlin before realizing that he was not with him any longer. All three times, the distraction was so briefly all-consuming that he now had three, shallow slashes on his arms from the enemy's quick blade. On the third strike, he cut down the foe with blinding force and determined firmly within himself that he would not spare another thought for his traitorous servant during this battle.

"Percival, Dartagnan!"

The two knights responded immediately at their leader's call, slicing down their opponents and running to meet him near the steps of the castle.

The metallic clashes of swords from all around filled the king's ears as he ordered his two loyal men with a voice stronger than he himself felt.

"Gather what knights you can and get the citizens out of the city walls. Women and children first."

"Yes, sire," came the simultaneous replies, and neither man spared the time for a bow of respect before their red capes disappeared into the darkened corner of the place, down the flight of stairs hidden by a jutting wall toward the underground caverns, where his good and brave people awaited their salvation.

He wondered if he would ever be able to give it.

Even before they had vanished from his sights, a roar, terribly familiar and more furious than before, tore through the air and bounced off the stone walls, making it sound as though it came from all directions when it truly only came from a single source. Arthur raised his fiercely blue eyes to the dark heavens and saw a band of white mar the blackness of the nighttime.

What of Camelot's army that was near enough to hear it followed his gaze, and then there was a precious second of peace before fire tore through the atmosphere and burnt all in its path from the sky.

Arthur had little choice but to half-stumble up the remainder of the castle steps and leap through the doorway, the petrified screams of noble soldiers filling the air of the town square where the fire did not touch.

It was then that he was taken by surprise, for Elyan and Gwaine rushed to him from the otherwise empty and silent hall, both breathless in their urgency.

"Morgana, sire," gasped Elyan gravely. "She is on the roof of the castle."

He scarcely halted to catch his breath before he took the first step toward the inner staircase, turning back only to command his loyal friends away when they began to follow.

"I do not expect to stop her," he told them hastily and honestly. "I hope only to detain her long enough for you to get the people out of the city."

"No. Sire…"

"Please," Arthur silenced Elyan's answering discord. "I am asking you ask your king and as your friend, do this last thing I ask of you. Go."

It was not for his orders that they obeyed, but for the fearless, understanding acceptance of his task which shone in his sincere eyes.

He waited until he could not hear their footsteps any longer, and then he ran up the staircase, knowing in his heart that he would never come down again.

In the cold hollow beneath the dungeons, where the cries of the falling Camelot could not penetrate the thick walls, Merlin whispered into the inky blackness, and rays of pure-white light emanated from the palms of his manacled hands. He twisted to sit, one shoulder leant against the frigid wall so that the glow of his magic could illuminate the little space from behind his back.

He knew without question where he was, though he had never before seen the rough walls and tapered ceiling, as high as if he were at the bottom of a well. With wide eyes and bated breath, he wondered why he had awoken so suddenly, and with the little space between his shoulder blades damp with cold sweat, as though he had been trapped in a nightmare. Then he cared little for it, because his next thoughts shot so quickly through his mind that he felt dizzy at the incomprehensibility of them—_Camelot_, and _Morgana_, _army_, _dragon…_

…_Arthur_.

His head spun, a painful throbbing through his right temple. He winced at it, and as soon as his head lolled against the cool wall of stone, a noise like thunder rumbled through the place.

He knew, in that instant, that Camelot would soon fall.

His eyes closed, almost of their own accord, and suddenly a cry resounded in his head—not from his own surroundings, he realized, but from somewhere else.

"_How kind of you to come, dear brother. Though I must say, I expected you sooner. I hope you did not run into any trouble on your way."_

A sinister, smiling face, blurred in the darkness behind his eyelids, becoming clearer as his powerful magic reached forth to affix itself to the answering magic, hidden like a deep and tiny spark within the mind of their king.

Morgana's pale face, framed by thick locks of dark, unwashed hair, moved back, her light green eyes never losing their cruel gleam. Tiny pinpricks of light—stars—formed behind her head, and clouds of circling smoke whisked around the familiar, eggshell tower over her shoulder.

He heard Arthur's breaths raking against his throat, felt the cold metal of Excalibur disappearing from his strong hand as her golden eyes forced it to skitter across the rooftop.

"_Why can you not just let us be, Morgana?"_ Not fear or even anger in his voice, but only a demanding need to know. _"Why can you not leave Camelot in peace? These people have done nothing to you."_

Her smile fell, a shadow falling over her countenance from just below the surface.

"_I care nothing about the people of Camelot,"_ said she unfeelingly. _"Their fate is their own, whether they choose to resist or welcome the new era I shall bring."_

"_Whatever revenge you want, my father is dead. You cannot hurt him any further."_

Merlin's breathing sharpened at the repelling delight which chased the shadow from her face and replaced it with something else entirely.

"_Then I suppose I will just have to settle for seeing his son die. Once you are out of my way, there will be no one to stop me taking the throne, and then I'll finally be free."_

This last spoken in a voice haunted by memories and nightmares, all of which she had been too weak and bitter to overcome.

He felt Arthur's fear as black magic rippled all around him, and it cut off their connection to each other like a heavy, dark wall of smoke.

Merlin's head struck the wall softly as he seemed to awake from the vision. He knew, beyond all doubt, that if he did not escape this prison now, his greatest friend would die, and then, Camelot would be doomed. This was the time he had been created for—the moment he had to prove whether he would win or fail at his destiny.

His eyes hardening with his resolution, he stumbled clumsily to his feet; once he was steady—with the magic-induced, shining light still casting strange shadows on the walls from behind his back—he had not even the need to whisper aloud before his eyes flashed gold in obedience to his mind. The shackles around his wrists fell to the half-rotted straw on the floor, but he did not rejoice in their disappearance or even move to rub the raw place on either hand where they'd been.

Knowing what he must do, Merlin stood still and motionless as a one of the oaks in the forest outside the city and closed his eyes, feeling the irises change to gold the moment his lids shut over them and the power began to flow once more through his body. He inhaled one, long breath, feeling the magic in the air dance on his skin while four separate trails of ancient Greek ran through his mind all at once, swirling around inside his head, pulling the magic toward him, _in_ him, exactly the way the Great Dragon had said it would when he had passed along this sacred enchantment to the young warlock of legend, his old, weary eyes strong in confidence that it would be used for the good in a time of desperation.

Merlin's fingers began to tremble as he took in all he could, holding his breath in his lungs as he focused every bit his energy—physical, mental, and spiritual—into this one task.

When he could bear no more, he released it.

His hands rose of their own accord, palms facing outward, his eyes shining furiously gold as the power burst out of him with a force so immense that it took even himself a moment to see that the rocks around and above him where falling, shaking from their places and crumbling into heaps of stone and clay. The only thing, he realized, keeping him from being crushed by them was a clear shield, like a dome around his body, which he could not remember conjuring.

When there was no more danger, he allowed the shield to vanish. He took only a moment to gather his bearings, his eyes sharpening again with the tenacity of his calling, before he rushed to the pile of rock closest to him and began to climb his way out of the gaping hole in the floor above.

No matter if the whole kingdom hated what he was, he would not allow Morgana would not harm Arthur. He would die seeing to that.

In the courtyard, Gwaine and Elyan fought with their whole hearts for the same Arthur.

The white dragon growled a low, serpentine sound which may or may not have been a string of words, circling in the air above them as the two noble friends attempted to warn him away with their blades. It was a shallow hope that their rugged taunts and threatening swings would distract the beast from the people rushing for the safety of the underground, but perhaps they could offer the helpless civilians a bit of time to reach the forest. It was the least they could do for their noble king.

In the midst of it, a great flash—like purple lightning—struck the creature's side, and it whined in pain before flapping unsteadily around the castle wall and from their sights.

It took both Elyan and Gwaine less than a breath to realize Merlin was running toward them in the darkness, his footsteps light and quick on the stone ground.

"Where is he?"

Neither man answered immediately.

"Gwaine," the sorcerer cried in the lively tone which arose only when he was most desperate, eyes appearing light blue in the moonlight and bright with fervor, "Morgana is going to kill him! Please, tell me where he is! He _cannot_ die."

Another half-moment passed, and then a sound, like thunder, rippled around them from the castle.

"The rooftop," Elyan said, with sureness in his voice as he lowered his weapon and looked directly into Merlin's eyes.

"Take the servants' passage," added Gwaine warningly, and his own blade had already been put into its sheath.

The young warlock turned and ran without stopping to thank them, or even to realize that the once-overpowering doubt of his two friends had vanished entirely in one moment. Now, as Gwaine and Elyan watched him disappear into the darkened doors of the Pendragon castle, there was nothing short of trust—and perhaps regret—in their eyes, for something deep and true had changed their hearts and minds about everything the laws of Camelot had once proclaimed.

They had heard Lancelot say once, when they had first rescued Camelot from Morgana and Morgause's clutches, in a voice soft and wondering, that Merlin was as good and worthy as all of the knights, and that all one must do is look into his eyes to see what pure love and devotion were there. He had declared with sureness that he knew, just as his fellow knights would use their weapons and strengths, Merlin would use what great abilities he had to protect and serve their future king.

Both Gwaine and Elyan had looked into Merlin's eyes as he had spoken now, and they finally understood what Lancelot had seen.

**To be continued**

* * *

_This chapter may not have shed a lot of light on the Merlin-Arthur relationship issue, but the point of it really was to get the secondary characters to realize the truth, so there's nothing in the way when Arthur (finally!) does. No worries, though; Chapter iii has plenty to make up for the lack of Merlin-Arthur news.  
Hope you enjoyed it, and **Brooke**, I hope this helped with the problem with Gwaine's reaction; I probably should have addressed his thoughts then, but maybe it's clearer what's going through that handsome head of his now. Let me know how you liked it.  
And for the love of Camelot, review!  
(Oh, and by the way, winks to anyone who caught the Three Musketeers reference!)_


	3. Chapter 3

_Twenty-nine reviews! You guys are amazing. Really. Whenever you feel sad, just remember there's a writer here who thinks you're absolutely wonderful. *wink*  
I'm so glad most of you seem to like this story. I apologize for the incredibly ridiculous length here; I was contemplating cutting it in half toward the middle, but then I decided I like it better all joined together. I have a few things to say about this chapter, but none of it will be understandable until you've read it, so I'm going to make sense and put all of that at the bottom of the chapter. I'm also making pie. Just so you know.  
This is the final official, full chapter, complete with dragons and stormy skies and weird, evil, shadow-creature people thingies that can rot your skin with a single touch. I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter iii**

"What happened to you, Morgana?"

It was not the first time he had asked such a question. Twice, now, they had met since the betrayal which had broken his father—_their_ father, he corrected mentally, though he could still scarcely believe that. Both times, he had asked; never had he gotten an answer that satisfied him, and this time was no different. Perhaps he would never be satisfied with her reasons.

She was smiling at him now, and the curve of her pallid lips was not even a ghost of the memories he had of her.

"I was saved, Arthur," said she, and he could see that she believed it with all her being, "rescued from Uther's cruelty and his lies."

The world seemed to be frozen around them, locked in utter silence so high in the night sky, but he was sure there was screaming in the great city below, and the knowledge of that was always burning at the back of his mind, every second of his time in her presence.

"You say that," he answered with sad irony, "and yet you lied to all of us, and if you keep going, you will kill as many that my father did, and you know that. You are not different from him, Morgana; if anything, you're more terrible than he ever was. You have let your anger overwhelm you. It's made you into a monster."

Her smile fell for the second time in the hour, and her eyes flashed darker than he had ever seen.

"If that is what you believe," she retorted frigidly, "then you have fooled yourself more than you could ever know. If I am a monster for what I am, then I shall show you as much mercy as a monster would."

From a secret pocket of her black-lace gown, she pulled a knife with a blade which spiraled like a ribbon and glinted in the emerging light of the moon.

Arthur struggled against the vines holding his back securely against the rising tower, but the tiny barbs tore shallow cuts into his arms with every move, seeming to dig tighter into his skin, and he knew that he was entirely helpless. Even so, he would not stop struggling. It was not in him to stop. No matter that Death was a mere footstep away from him, he would not close his eyes against it.

So he held them open, looked straight into Morgana's unfeeling eyes as she moved toward his heart with the dagger.

All in one instant, the blade was gone from her hands.

His eyes, wide with his shock and alarm, followed it as it shot like an arrow from a bow, across the rooftop, and then it stopped. There it hovered, held just before but not touching a slender, pale hand.

Arthur's breath caught tightly in his chest. He could see the glowing gold even for the distance between them.

It was Merlin. He knew it was—there was no mistaking him for anyone else, not after all these years—but there was something different about his very being. It was something Arthur had never before felt, though he had spent seven years in near-constant companionship with him in every waking hour. It was unearthly, the impossible might Merlin's slim silhouette seemed to exhibit, and the pride and power he seemed to possess now. He looked nothing like a manservant. He looked like a god.

"Leave him alone, Morgana_._"

He never thought it could be so, but the low, dangerous intonation of Merlin's voice actually unnerved him.

Morgana laughed, unconcerned as her dagger fell lifelessly at the servant's feet.

"Who would ever have thought, Merlin," said she, having recovered easily from the doubtless shock of seeing him, "that you, of all people, have _magic_. How quaint it is for you to come all the way here to rescue your beloved king. But now I'm afraid I'll have to kill you as well, though I can't say I won't enjoy it, after all the trouble you've caused me."

Arthur's eyes were locked on Merlin's form, and he could not be sure, but he thought he saw the other man's head tilt to the side, as if in incredulity or wonderment at something.

Morgana's entire figure tensed, as though her dark magic was poising to strike like a snake within her, but Merlin only took a step closer and said, quietly and slowly and with a strange, almost mystic, certainty,

"You won't kill me, Morgana."

She seemed to be feeling none of the peculiar intuition which was rising in Arthur's chest, and once again, laughter bubbled darkly from her throat.

"Oh? And why is that?"

Merlin took another step closer.

"You don't know who I am."

She must have seen something in his face then, something that inspired the same feeling in her as it was in Arthur already, because she relaxed from her treacherous posture and did not reply immediately. When it became apparent that the servant would say nothing more, she declared, though with less surety than before,

"You are a servant."

"I am much more than that." The very tone of his voice left no margin for argument. "I am more powerful than you could ever imagine."

The vile humor had been chased completely away from her features now, and this time, when he stepped forward, she moved back.

"Who are you?"

It was the same question Arthur had asked mere hours before, but he could not help but feel that, unlike him, she already knew the answer.

"I am a servant to Camelot. You were right about that. But you know me by another name."

Her face became paler, and Arthur found himself wondering yet again exactly who they both were at heart. One had been his sister, the other his servant—but here, they were neither.

"It's impossible."

Spoken so quietly, Arthur was unsure at first if he had heard Morgana at all. Then, Merlin's very countenance altered simultaneously with the recognition flooding the witch's once-lovely face. His ocean eyes flashed.

All in one instant, Morgana was gone, thrown by inhuman force until her back slammed against a jutting part of the roof, and her body went limp with unconsciousness. In the next moment, Merlin was standing in front of him, touching one, steady hand to the vines holding him captive.

Arthur realized suddenly that he was trembling.

* * *

Merlin did not look into Arthur's face as the binds fell, one by one.

Still, even without seeing, he could feel the sapphire eyes boring into him. The weight of Arthur's gaze was stifling, and there were a thousand things to be said, but he could not think of any of that now. With all the turmoil in the air, he forced his mind to consider only one thing—his one purpose.

"You must get away," he told his king firmly, as his dexterous fingers unwrapped the last twisting vines from around Arthur's chest, freeing him from Morgana's cruel trap.

His eyes took in the tiny scratches running little streams of blood down his king's arms, and he could not resist touching one; it healed instantly. It was only then that he chanced to look up, and the look on Arthur's handsome face was one which would stay with him forever.

He only allowed himself to take in the infinite blue of his eyes—the astonishment and confusion and wonder, all of which he had imagined and _hoped_ he might see someday—for only the barest of moments, before he felt Morgana's waking behind him, her wicked magic seeping into the air again. He leant down and grasped Excalibur from where it had fallen close by.

"Take this, sire," he ordered, not pretending to be a servant any longer, but taking his place as protector with ease. "Go."

Arthur hesitated, and Merlin could see the bold and valiant man he knew rising up. Where there was a threat, the great king felt it his duty to vanquish it. This time, however, he had no chance against it, and Merlin knew this.

"Who are you?"

The quiet question, sounding so different than it had in the throne room only hours before, took Merlin momentarily by surprise. He studied Arthur's face for the barest of moments, and then, as he understood exactly what it meant to them both now, he could not help the small smile of affection for his friend.

His smile, it seemed, was enough.

Arthur pulled his gaze from Merlin's face to look over his shoulder, and the young sorcerer did not have to follow his gaze to know that Morgana was regaining her composure. He could feel her fortifying herself to wage war against her highest foe.

"_Emrys."_

The word, hissed through clenched teeth, felt too quiet to reach Merlin's ears, but he heard it nonetheless.

"Go, Arthur," he was pleading now. "Run!"

* * *

Arthur did, recognizing the look in Merlin's eyes and trusting it as he always had, though he himself had never known why. Perhaps now he did.

He climbed quickly up one incline of the roof, still clutching Excalibur in one hand, and threw himself over a railing so that he landed sturdily on the closest terrace. However, as he reached for the handle of the door which would lead him to safety, back to his people and away from the disorientation of the magic all around him, a sharp, horribly familiar cry echoed over the rooftops.

Merlin, who had been watching him to ensure that he made it, had been too distracted to feel it when another's magic pervaded the atmosphere of the place.

Now, Arthur watched as his servant was thrown much in the same way he had thrown Morgana only a minute before, and another figure had suddenly appeared from nowhere, his sea-cerulean cloak bristling behind his small body in the storm-charged breeze.

So many questions were filling Arthur's mind to the point where he nearly could not think straight, and he stood there for a moment, caught between two opposing sides of himself. Magic was evil. That was evidenced by the two, corrupt, and merciless beings below.

_Yet_, something other than his logic whispered to him, a voice deep down which sounded all-too-much like a certain, wise manservant he knew, _look at who they are joining forces against._

Without knowing what he was doing, his eyes moved to the brilliant, shining sword in his hand, and he remembered, without trying, what it meant and who had given it to him.

His mind suddenly cleared, and he leapt back over the rail without a second thought.

* * *

Merlin's head was spinning; though his magic could protect his body from breaking, it could not stop the pain inflicted upon him by such a violent blow.

Two figures appeared in his blurring vision, their silhouettes barely visible against the black sky, and though he could not discern their faces, he knew who both of them were by the sheer auras each radiated.

"Well," said Morgana's voice past the ringing of his ears, sickly-sweet with her easy victory, "it appears that you will not be my doom after all, Emrys."

Mordred said nothing, but Merlin struggled desperately for his inner strength as the boy's arms moved upward, palms outstretched toward the fallen sorcerer.

A roll of thunder from the returning storm was just forming in the sky when everything changed.

There was a flash of golden hair and silver armor, and then Morgana and Mordred were gone from his sight, and it their place, his king.

* * *

Arthur stumbled momentarily when both of the wicked sorcerers disappeared from before him, his sword barely missing the teal fabric of Mordred's cloak as he swung without regret for him. His eyes flickered up and found them both to be standing, side-by-side, several footsteps away now.

No one spoke a word, and then Mordred's right hand shot up.

Arthur prepared himself to dive out of the way of the oncoming attack, but he knew he would never make it. Just as he steadied himself for the pain he was sure to feel, sword still held up in defiance to them, the shining shard of devastating power was swallowed up by a strange, blue shield of light.

Merlin's eyes met his own evenly from beside him, and a ghost of that old, familiar smirk was playing at the corner of his mouth in that certain way it did when he knew he had done something impressive. Arthur clutched the sword tighter in his hands and, hardly even knowing it, smiled in return.

In the next second, the real battle began.

Mordred vanished once more, reappearing some distance away, at the top of the highest tower, where a rod enchanted by a young dragon stood exposed, the swirling crystal held in the top of it glowing with wicked enchantments as powerful as the Old Religion. It was these that were slowing destroying Camelot; Merlin could feel it. Mordred did not move, standing silently like a stone guardian of it, but the good sorcerer could feel his heavy gaze upon him, waiting for the prophesied Emrys to challenge him.

Merlin's own eyes hardened at that.

"The staff," he said hastily to Arthur. "If I can destroy it, I can stop them."

Even as he was speaking, Morgana was shouting in a language more ancient than the spells in Merlin's worn book. She was calling, he knew, for the dark beings which she had set loose upon Camelot, which were nothing but shadows in the shape of men, and worse than the Dorocha had ever been. These spirits could not die, and not even a burning fire could drive them away; it only made them invisible to the human eye. Nothing could contain them, and nothing could hinder them from their annihilation of all in the commands of the one who had summoned them.

Now, the witch was calling for them to abandon the city and assail only one man.

The first of them slid up silently like a hell-demon in front of Arthur, and Merlin grasped his arm and moved him back to stop the creature from laying a quivering hand upon him, for it was as if the very air died and rotted where its form touched.

"Go, Merlin!"

Shouted ruggedly at the same moment as Arthur swung at the dark creature, and Merlin took two steps in obedience before turning back again in anxiety for his friend's life.

The shadow screamed in shocked anguish as Excalibur cut through it, and it disintegrated without hope of fighting the eternal power of the blade.

Arthur, in his own, typical fashion, widened his eyes and quirked a self-satisfied grin at Merlin, balancing the immortal sword in his steady hand as he prepared with new vivacity and brashness to fight the oncoming adversaries.

Merlin could not stop the answering beam at seeing the look on the king's face for the first time in so long, and then he trustingly left his companion behind as he made his way toward the staff made of dark magic…and toward the dark sorcerer guarding it.

Mordred said nothing as the other warlock approached him. Despite the sound of small battle erupting behind Merlin's back, the silent boy never removed his eyes from Merlin's face, watching him as though he could look into his very soul with his piercing eyes, and perhaps he could.

"_We only want what rightfully should be, Emrys."_

Merlin held his ground, not moving any closer or any farther away as Mordred's soundless voice spoke to him.

"It is not your right," he declared, quietly, "to change what the gods have put into place. Arthur is the Once and Future King. No one can compare to him."

"_It does not matter. Morgana is the legitimate sovereign. She is going to make us free."_

"Your belief in freedom is to attack the innocent people of Camelot?" Merlin challenged him. "You're destroying their homes, their work, even their lives. Even if you win, the kingdom will never be the same with Morgana on the throne. It's _not worth it_ to control your own destiny."

This last he declared with as much severity as the oncoming storm above.

"_This _is_ my destiny, Emrys."_

Merlin barely had time to drop before a sphere of fire nearly tore through him.

It took him several seconds (during which he chanced to look across the rooftop at Arthur to make certain he was yet uninjured, and found him in the midst of a cloud of the dark shadows, swinging in an unconsciously graceful arc and destroying most in a single blow) and then he realized that the fire had not been conjured by Mordred, but that it had come from someplace else.

Arthur, panting from exertion and eyes wide and dark with the initial alarm, was momentarily distracted by the sight of the now-familiar serpent as he circled their surrogate battlefield, his perfectly white wings stretched out as though he were gliding silently through crystal-clear water.

Even as he slid back to avoid a dagger of magic hurled by an icy-eyed Mordred, Merlin began to chant as loudly as he could, summoning his magic to underlie his voice and make the enchantment come to pass,

"_O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!"_

Aithusa reared his great head back, and Merlin thought, in a flash, how very beautiful the creature was, and how wondrous he could be if he would only choose the side of light instead of darkness.

Arthur looked around in frantic, but his path was blocked in every direction by the still-advancing shadows, reaching out for him now, selfishly desiring to do their own work on his mortal flesh before the dragon could reach him.

"Arthur!" Merlin cried, his voice stricken with panic, for he knew that he could do nothing. Aithusa was too far gone from his control.

Somewhere in the space separating the two friends, Morgana laughed aloud.

Merlin repeated the spell, shouting it as though it was with his dying breath, and at the same time he forgot completely about—or perhaps he simply no longer cared for—the threat Mordred was posing on his own life. He scrambled to his feet, knowing that he would never reach Arthur in time to save him….

Just as the flames started to cascade from Aithusa's mouth, a sixth living being joined their battle, this one with old, coarse scales glinting tarnished brass and eyes which Age would never dim.

Merlin halted faltered in his step, nearly tripping as Kilgarrah's strong head collided with Aithusa's side, putting out the smaller dragon's fires and sending them both reeling in the air with different-pitched roars powerful enough in union to shake the bones of the most courageous knights.

Arthur wasted no time in recovery, and swung again, with even more force than before, cutting down more the shadow-beings which had become closer than ever to him.

Merlin followed in his king's example, spinning around again and countering another attack of magic from Mordred with one of his own, their two opposing powers shattering in the middle of them.

Merlin caught another glimpse of the staff behind Mordred as the cloaked sorcerer moved closer, his ice eyes filled with vicious intent. He had to reach it…that was the only way to weaken them….But he could not simply shatter it, he knew, for that would only release the wicked magic within and unleash it without bounds throughout the earth. He had to take the magic within himself and pray to the gods that he was strong enough to vanish it inside his soul.

So, his own eyes hooded and dark with his inborn vitality, Merlin rose to his feet, and the intensity of his gaze stopped Mordred's advance and placed upon his young face a look of taunting curiosity.

"It is not magic which has no place here," he told the boy in a voice as solid as stone and low as the thunder all around, "it is you."

Mordred took only one step before he found himself trapped in Merlin's magic, his body tossed over the edge of the castle's roof and toward the stone ground far below.

Merlin saw Aithusa break away from Kilgarrah and dive toward where the boy had fallen, but he did not stop to consider it, for he had expected as much. Instead, he took the last few steps in a blur until his hands hovered just before touching the wicked crystal. The ancient stone burned black now with the same fury saturating Morgana's voice as she cried out from somewhere behind,

"No!"

It was too late for her, however, and he closed his eyes against the force he knew was to overwhelm him, calling fervently for every small drop of his magic to unite with his blood.

Arthur halted mid-lunge as the shadows all around him began to flicker, their hisses of rage turning to screeches of anguish. They parted, and he saw Morgana moving toward the great tower, her face pallid and fraught with dread.

All seemed locked in silence around him as he followed her gaze and saw her doom.

His the tip of his sword struck the ground as his hand fell, and he was breathless as he saw Merlin standing before the relic of wicked magic, eyes set aflame with gold and lips moving with words he could not understand even if he heard them.

The shadows fled toward his servant like a living cloud of soot, but they were burnt up before making it half the distance to him. The white dragon was gone, and had taken Mordred with him in hiding. The storm cleared away, revealing the uprising sun in the east. Morgana disappeared into the sky in a turmoil, knowing she was defeated once more by the magic of Emrys.

A silhouette appeared in Arthur's vision, and he turned to see the Great Dragon hovering at the edge of the rooftop. For the first true time, Kilgarrah's eyes searched the frozen dark blue of the Once and Future King's.

The old dragon smiled with some, mysterious solace and glided away with the last of the storm-clouds.

In that moment, the last word of Merlin's spell broke through Arthur's reeling thoughts, and he looked up once more and saw the staff and crystal had fallen into nothing but dust at the sorcerer's feet. There was a look of sharp, twisting pain on Merlin's face now, one, thin arm wrapped across his chest and knees trembling, threatening to collapse with a power Arthur would never comprehend.

Then, as the first rays of the new day struck the side of his face, Merlin's eyes opened.

* * *

Merlin swayed where he stood, blinking furiously against the exhaustion creeping so quickly into him. The dark powers had died inside his own, good magic, and now his head spun with the aftereffects of it all, leaving him weak and aquiver with the immense exertion—and the unspeakable relief.

When his vision cleared again, he raised his head and found that he and Arthur faced each other, standing alone at opposite ends of the place, surrounded by the abrupt peace and stillness of dawn. Their eyes met, and whether due to the distance or something else, neither could quite discern the other's mind.

They may have stood that way for much longer, but in that very moment, a shout broke through the silence, followed by the sudden arrival of four men.

Without waiting for orders, and uncomprehending of what had occurred, Leon and Percival rushed to where Merlin stood, and he did not resist or argue this time when they grasped his arms and held them at his sides; whether it was because he was no longer afraid of his secret being known, or because he was simply too weary, it is impossible to say. At the same time, Gwaine and Elyan reached Arthur, concern on their lips for him.

He held his hand up, silencing them both, and they followed him with furtive glances as he walked with sure, measured steps to where his knights held his servant in captivity. Gwaine clenched his jaw and instinctively placed one hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword, preparing in his mind what he might say should his king once again demand Merlin be thrown into the dungeons for his crimes; no matter what the other man had done or what lies he had told, Gwaine would not allow harm to come to him, not now.

"Release him."

When they did as they were commanded, Merlin dropped without warning to his knees. Unlike the first time, this he did out of choice, in reverence and acknowledgement of his king, and not because he was forced to bow.

Arthur assessed him for a moment, and then, he knelt before him.

Merlin raised his gaze and looked without trepidation at his king, and for the first time since they had met, the pretense in the servant's changeable eyes was dropped away to reveal the whole truth of his character.

"I am not one of them."

The king's eyes swirled with something deep and strong at Merlin's whispered words.

The young sorcerer let a heartbeat pass between them, and then he echoed his promise in the softest voice, his eyes bright and burning into his master's with a power entirely different from his magic but equally as great.

"I'm _yours_, Arthur."

With a tentativeness contrary to his usual disposition, Arthur reached out with one, gloved hand and touched his fingers to Merlin's narrow shoulder.

He felt the same, he thought, just as warm and scrawny as ever. In that moment, he realized that nothing at all had truly changed, and he laid his sword aside and placed his left hand solidly on Merlin's other shoulder.

"All right, Merlin," he murmured, never pulling his gaze from the other man's, the look in his eyes speaking more than his words ever could. "It's all right."

Merlin held himself still for a long moment, not breathing or blinking at all, and then the realization that he was truly here, and that it was not a dream that Arthur was speaking so gently and hearteningly to him, struck him all at once; his pale face faltered, tears springing to his tired, tender eyes, and in the all-consuming sensation, he finally allowed himself to let go.

Arthur caught him easily, and Merlin sighed without realizing it against the scratched armor covering Arthur's shoulder, his warm breath brushing against the king's tanned throat. Arthur placed one hand a bit awkwardly at the base of his servant's back and the other against his slightly trembling shoulder, turning his face and briefly letting his cheek brush against dark hair. Then, he looked with light eyes up at his knights as he felt Merlin go completely limp in his arms.

"Help me carry him back to the physician's chambers," he commanded quietly.

"But, sire, he—"

"I know what he is, Leon," Arthur interrupted with calm patience, "and I know what he has done."

He pushed the unconscious Merlin back, holding him securely with his right hand against the younger man's jaw so that he could look closely into his colorless and sleep-veiled face for a brief moment. Then, the king said in a voice quiet with sincere wonderment and a hint of genuinely amused disbelief,

"Merlin is a sorcerer, and he has saved us all."

**To be continued (to epilogue)**

* * *

_First things first: I put (up there, somewhere) that Merlin has been working for Arthur for about seven years; there have been four seasons, and I know there's a one-year gap between at least one of them, so I just picked a number I like that could fit. If that's officially wrong, do let me know so I can be more accurate next time. Thanks!  
Two: Yes, in that part where Merlin tilts his head at Morgana, he is wondering (as we all do) why the heck she hasn't figured out yet that he's Emrys.  
Three: I know I'm bound to have at least one reviewer complain about Arthur's initially running for the door when Merlin frees him, but if you consider it, all he really knew in that moment was that Morgana came about two seconds away from killing him, his kingdom was falling and his people needed help, he didn't know what to think about magic anymore, and Merlin's big, blue, trustworthy eyes were begging him to run. He was scared, confused, and he came back in less than thirty seconds, so please, I'm asking you politely not to tell me it's OOC, because that just means I'll have to write you a PM explaining how it's_ not_ in great detail, thereby wasting both my time and yours.  
Four: This is actually linked to a question I've had for a long time. Is Mordred immortal? I know he looks like a little boy, but he doesn't really give off that aura to me; I've always thought he was actually several years older, but for whatever reason, he's never aged. Maybe it's just my overactive imagination working, but I think it's a fun theory, so I used it here.  
Um...I think that's everything. If you've gotten this far without quitting, let me say thank you so much for reading! Because you've all been so great, I want you to know that I haven't finished the Epilogue yet, because I want you to ask your questions and make your comments about whatever you want regarding this story, and I'll try to acknowledge them all in the "finale." If you have no questions or comments, leave me a review anyway and tell me how you liked (or disliked) this chapter. Goodnight (or morning), everyone! I love you all, and thanks again!  
_


	4. Epilogue

_So how long has it been? Wait. Don't tell me; I'd rather not know.  
All I can tell you is that I do have slightly a little something of an excuse this time; my sisters and I (along with a few other kids) are being forced to stay an extra hour after school every day. Stupid government doesn't understand that A.C.E. schools work under different conditions than public schools, and if we miss a day, we don't actually miss any school work; also, being a minute late three days in a row should NOT count as a whole day's absence. I don't care what good lessons you're trying to teach me about punctuality.  
Anyway! I'm sure all you awesome people don't care about any of that; I just didn't want you to think I was abadoning you willfully. I love you entirely too much for that. *hugs*  
Once again, the epilogue is just as long as the other chapters (if not longer). A few people asked to see the multiple reactions of people, so I did my best to include that; couldn't think of anyone else's reaction that mattered, but if you can, let me know and I'll add it on. A couple mentioned the issue of Aithusa not obeying Merlin; I may possibly have taken a liberty on that, but if you pay attention in the show (or just remember the dialogue, like my warped mind), it's never actually declared that Merlin has 100% absolute power over the dragons. The closest Kilgarrah comes to saying he does is when he says something like, "I could not resist you, even if I wanted to." For the sake of the story, let's just say Aithusa's been so overtaken by the "dark side" (LOL) that he is able to pull away and resist Merlin's power over him to some extent.  
Thanks so much to all my beautiful reviewers and readers! I'm glad you've enjoyed the story, and I hope you like this last part too!_

* * *

**Epilogue**

When Merlin opened his eyes again, he believed, for a moment at least, that he had dreamt it all.

Certainly, the walls of his room looked no different, the same shade of stone-grey they had always been, with hardly any crack or discoloration to mark them. He looked up into the colorless rays shining through the little window onto his bed, the light being the first thing that touched his eyes, and he could not tell if it was dusk or dawn.

Sitting up slowly, hands wrapped around the blanket at his waist (he was in his nightclothes, he noted), he tried to think back to what he had been doing. Nothing of his everyday life came to his mind, but only the stormy darkness of Morgana and Mordred's attack, and the white tail of Aithusa flipping across his memory, and…

He blanched.

"It's dawn, if that's what you're wondering."

His entire body jolted at the unexpected voice breaking into the stillness of his dim room. A figure with broad shoulders and a confident step emerged out of the shadows of the far corner, maneuvering around the typical piles of books and semi-clean clothes with his usual air of exasperation at the mess.

Merlin's hands twisted intuitively in the blanket, before he forced his tensed muscles to relax, that inborn calmness overtaking him as it always did, as he recalled…something…something he had seen just before he'd lost consciousness…something wondrous in his king's face….

He met Arthur's eyes without wavering.

The king stopped in the center of the room where he was just in the light enough; his heavy armor was gone, but even wearing his simple, red tunic and fawn trousers, there was no doubting his sovereignty and aptitude; it was clear in the way he held himself as he crossed his strong arms over his chest and looked with some indefinable emotion at the other man.

Merlin folded the long sleeve of his eggshell-white shirt back, his eyes quickly finding the place on his wrist where the shackles had held him in the sorcerer's dungeon.

Arthur's eyes flickered to the bruises before returning to his servant's pallid face.

"It wasn't a dream," the darker man murmured, and it was a statement and not a question, so Arthur did not open his mouth to reply.

Merlin looked away again, his wide eyes staring down at his worn blanket, before he took a slightly trembling breath and said, quietly but with solid conviction,

"I wanted to tell you, Arthur."

The other man's face remained impassive as Merlin looked up at him again with shining eyes, the sorcerer's back straightening and shoulders tightening, his gaze as steady and unflinching as Arthur had ever seen.

"You'll never understand how much I wanted to," he went on, sounding almost haunted with memories which were in the past now. "I thought about it every day."

"So you admit it, then. You admit that you lied to me."

The younger man nodded willingly, once again looking away from his master's deep eyes and down to his own fingers, which were tangling subtly in the covers as he considered his words with meticulous care.

"I had to," he said with honesty, and though he knew this was true, in the moment, he wondered deeply if it really was. "I had no choice."

"Why, Merlin? Why did you never tell me?" he demanded, however quietly, stepping forward the littlest bit in his barely-contained excitement, eyes flashing with something powerful and unreadable. "Why did it take all these years for you to ever say a word? Why did it take _this_ for you to tell me the truth?"

"You know why," the young sorcerer replied hastily and fixedly. "You would have had me killed, because you would not have understood, Arthur. You almost didn't _now_."

The king's face seemed to somehow soften at that, his shadowed eyes flickering subtly to the bruises still barely visible beneath Merlin's white shirtsleeve before the sorcerer consciously pulled the fabric down again to hide the marring, as though it were a mark of shame.

"I came so close," he murmured, looking down at his fingers toying with the edge of the sleeve at his wrist, "to telling you, so many times; you have no idea how many times. There were moments when I thought I would go insane if I didn't."

"And yet," Arthur expounded, having so hastily regained his usual relentless control, "you've left my chambers every night, and I still have never heard a single word about any of this."

Merlin did not lift his eyes, for he could feel in his heart that the king, even secretly, meant more than simply the magic at that. It was more than just a servant lying to his master, and more than even a subject lying to his king. It was a friend deceiving a friend, looking straight into his eyes and telling him lie after lie, knowing he would believe them all because of his affection and trust. It mattered little why he had done it; the hurt audible in his friend's voice now made that more real than anything.

"I know," he consented willfully, and then he looked up again with pleading eyes. "I was…afraid. I was going to tell you at the very start, in Ealdor; Will told me you wouldn't listen, and I was desperate to prove him wrong."

Arthur's countenance lost some of its severity at the thought of the young man who had so selflessly saved him—Merlin's first friend, he realized, and the first one he had trusted with his secret. The king, though he would never allow it to show, found himself torn between respect and the tiniest twinge of jealousy.

"But then he saved your life," the sorcerer went on without pausing, lifting his eyes to the king's again, "and I couldn't stop thinking that he was right. I waited, and waited; it never seemed the right time to tell you, and every time it was on the tip of my tongue, something happened—Morgause, Morgana, your father's death—and your hatred of my kind would be renewed. I was afraid all over again."

Merlin was afraid of him. Arthur's handsome face fought to remain a cold mask, but yet-inscrutable emotion still danced at his eyes and his mouth like candle-shadows, his arms, crossed over his slow-breathing chest, tensing into a knot with battle within himself. After all the times when he had been driven mad with frustration over his servant's never having the right and appropriate amount of fear of him, he felt he should be happy to know of this long-concealed trepidation…except, he wasn't.

Merlin, in the silence, glanced aimlessly at the thin door of his room, his fingers twisting absently in his lap, and then he took a noiseless breath and continued on bravely.

"Please, Arthur," he whispered with immense sincerity, "I know I have done you wrong, and I am sorry that I had to. I never meant to bring you pain."

"Why, then?"

Again, the king stepped forward, and the burning emotion now saturating his half-whispering voice almost startled Merlin. The sorcerer looked directly to him then, his fingers stopping their restless movement; Arthur's expression had lost all of its severity and resolution, as though he was no longer strong enough to hold it in his expression, and instead of the mighty King Arthur, Merlin was now looking at his friend Arthur—the Arthur who loved with all his heart and trusted like a child waiting for the first light of day, and who felt a wound deeper than any sword could penetrate in his loved ones' betrayal.

"I do not understand, Merlin," said he, as though he had given up at the roundabout exchange. "I don't understand _why_. You know what would have happened to you if my father had found you out, and yet you were here then, and you're _still_ here, even now."

Confusion passed quickly over Merlin's features as he struggled to define his friend's doubts. It had always been a talent of his to read Arthur, but now, the other man had had at least a day to form whatever damning distrusts were keeping him from harmony between them, and Merlin was struggling to unwind the knots he had made of all this.

"I know what you did," Arthur continued, quieter now with some, tender memory, "to Morgana. I know you saved the kingdom, but I can't bring myself to be grateful for that when I don't understand _why_."

Then, like the morning's light steadily growing brighter through the closed window, Merlin's whole face lit up with comprehension. In that same instant, his final few moments of consciousness swept back over his mind, and he saw in his memory the look on his master's face as he whispered to him, _I'm yours_.

In a movement swift and excited, like a little child receiving a great and awaited gift, he flipped the blankets away and stood firmly beside the bed so that he was facing his friend, and the light shone off the faded white of his clothes from behind him like an aura reflecting the brightness of his face.

"Arthur," said he kindly, but not placating, "listen to me now. Please, give me a chance—just one chance to explain myself to you; that's all I ask."

The other man, a hesitant light of hope glowing in the deep-blues of his eyes, gave him a nod which was nothing like a king granting allowance to his subject, but like a withdrawn young warrior desiring to have peace of mind.

"I know," said Merlin enigmatically, looking directly into Arthur's eyes without fear or hesitation, "that you have been hurt because of magic."

Arthur averted his gaze then, stubborn and strong as ever and unwilling still to allow another to see the haunting pain he kept hidden within himself as he thought of his mother, and his father, and all others who had suffered at the hand of practitioners of the so-called mystical arts. He was unaware, as he had always been, that he could hide nothing from Merlin.

"I know," the sorcerer went on, more solemn now at his master's still-present sorrow, "how hard it must be for you to ever see anything good in it. Everyone with magic who has ever come across your path has done so for gain, or revenge, or only to hurt you. You look at all people of my kind as though they have a hidden motive, like it's only a matter of time until every one of them tries to tear you down."

Arthur glanced up when Merlin stepped closer to him, over a set of old tomes beside the bed, with careful reservation, but he looked just as quickly away again and merely listened to his servant's words, yet unsure what to make of the fact that he did not feel the slightest bit unnerved to have a sorcerer so close to him.

"I could never blame you for that, Arthur," the warlock murmured gently. "I understand; you look at all of this, and you're trying to find a great scheme, just like all the other times in the past."

Arthur swallowed without intent, for that was precisely it.

Merlin moved just close enough to get the king's attention, so that their eyes would meet. When Arthur did lift his head, he found his servant smiling with a look more tender than he'd ever seen.

"You're right about that, sire," the gentle warlock told him. "There is a great scheme behind it all. I can't wait to tell you everything, but right now you're looking for the wrong type of plan. I have only one reason for being here, and it's not for hatred, and certainly not for gain. My reason is you."

Arthur could not have stopped his eyes from growing bright and wide even should he have tried. He said nothing at Merlin's words, but held his tongue and let the man continue; that faint hope had begun to glimmer more strongly in his face. It was the same hope which had been there before this had begun, when he had sat all the previous day in the other room and listened to Gaius tell him in a voice firm and truthful of the wonderful man who had been born to be his sorcerer.

"All those days," Merlin went on softly, without pride or threat, sounding just as he had a hundred times before, when he was reminding Arthur of something he had forgotten or disregarded that would make all the difference in whatever great choice he was facing, "when we were alone, and I was serving you a meal, or helping you practice for a speech, or dressing you…or all those times when you fell fast asleep while I was still cleaning up your room—I could've killed you, so easily. I would have been gone before anyone even knew you were dead."

Arthur's face acquired a look of vague alarm at that revelation, feeling a bit awkward that the thin, innocent-eyed manservant who had been pattering about his chambers was more than his equal, and he had never even had the foresight to imagine it.

"I didn't, though," Merlin reminded him intensely, recalling his attention. "No matter what you did, I could never even think to harm you, Arthur. Please, try to understand. Nothing of what I feel for you and for this kingdom—for Gwen, or Gaius, or any of the knights—was ever a lie. I never pretended to be someone I'm not; I only pretended to be less than what I am."

He inched still closer, so that they were scant steps away from one another, and his burning-blue eyes locked onto Arthur's so that the king could never hope to look away.

"I tell you, all the time," he smiled, "that I've saved your life more times than you know. You never believed me before, but I can tell you about every one now, and I can tell you why. You are my king, and my friend, but more than any of that…you're my whole purpose for existing. You have no idea what great things we're meant to do."

"Emrys," Arthur murmured, and to hear the name of legend said with such regard in _his_ voice made Merlin's smile all the brighter. "Gaius—he told me that you are someone called the _Emrys_, that you were created, by the gods, to—"

"—to guide and protect you," the warlock finished, his face soft with unspoken affection for the old physician's faith, "and to help you become the Once and Future King of Albion."

"Two sides of the same coin," Arthur chanted, looking down and shaking his head slightly in awe, repeating the words Gaius had used so many times in the hours they had talked the night before—he'd thought such a phrase was strange, but as he stood here now….

Merlin suppressed a small chuckle.

"Yes," said he. "I didn't think it was true when I first heard it, but now…I know it is."

Arthur glanced up at him again, and in the shining of Merlin's eyes, he had long-forgotten any doubts and distrusts still lingering.

"I stayed because…" Merlin looked down at his bare feet then, a faint blush colored his pale face, made all the clearer by the now-radiating sunlight behind him. "I stayed because I know what I am, and why I'm here. I stayed because I love you, Arthur, and I know how great you can become if I'm here with you to help. That is my destiny."

Then, the feelings dancing across his face seemed to change suddenly, and he raised his head once more, the dark gravity of his eyes somehow more haunting than any of Arthur's violence-born nightmares.

"If you are going to banish me," the warlock declared, voice as hard and unyielding as any mighty monarch's, "then you might as well go on and execute me, because that's the only way I'll ever abandon that destiny. Banish me, and I'll only return to you. If you can't be sure of anything else I've said, at least be sure of that, Arthur."

Arthur said nothing for a long moment. Instead, he looked once at his manservant, taking in his wild, dark hair and the familiar angles of his body and the wide, sea eyes glimmering with power beyond anything he could ever understand. He thought that he might slaughter anyone who tried to harm him.

At that solid conviction, he closed the little distance between them so that they were standing eye-to-eye. Merlin never moved, but Arthur was almost certain he could see hints of gold shimmering in the depths of his eyes when he became close enough.

"You will never be afraid of that again," he declared with all the domination of the legendary king he was destined to be. "You have my word, Merlin, that no harm will ever come to you as long as I am king. Whatever happens now, you will not have to live in fear again. I only ask one thing of you."

Merlin inhaled a small gulp of air, and Arthur realized suddenly that the younger man was trembling, his eyes wet and his smile having disappeared in favor of breathless disbelief.

"Promise me," the man said, lifting one hand to steady his friend, "that you will never keep anything from me again. From this day forward, trust me, Merlin, as much as I have trusted you."

The sorcerer seemed to gain the presence of mind enough only to nod vehemently, as though, for once, Arthur had said exactly what he should. At the wide, complete grin which lit up the room more than the daylight ever could, the king decided that, for what may be the first time in his life, he had placed his whole faith in the right person.

He could not explain it, but he felt as though the weight of all the world had been lifted from his heart.

* * *

As they emerged just as the sun began to shine with all its glory, the worry of Gaius's wizened face drained at the sight of both his boy and his master smiling without shadow of trouble or distress. With steps quicker than a man of his age should probably be able to manage, the physician reached the dark-haired, younger man and embraced him gently in the sight of their king.

Merlin's smile grew softer and he did not hesitate to wrap his arms around the man who was his father in all ways but one.

"It's all right, Gaius," said he, and Arthur, though he understood what Merlin meant by it, knew he would never understand the depth behind it.

"I always told you it would be," answered the elder, in that peculiar fashion which could be taken as sarcasm were he not so wise and respectable, and Merlin only closed his eyes briefly and grinned in the tears still lingering in his eyes.

* * *

In the throne room less than an hour later, Gwen's caramel eyes flickered back and forth between her husband and their friend as Arthur poured the inconceivable tale out to her with complete honesty and gentleness, while Merlin stood beside him and watched her face carefully but without imposing expectation.

Her lovely face clouded with concern and unease in the beginning, but as she listened without interruption to her true and good king, and saw the new glow of his gaze in the truth, it slowly faded away. When he was through, she was quiet for only a moment before raising her eyes to Merlin with her own patient expectancy.

"I am sorry that I lied to you," the sorcerer voiced with contained eagerness. "I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me, and believe that I did it with good reasons. I'm not like Morgana, Gwen. I care for you, and Arthur, more than anything. You know that perhaps better than anyone."

The lady regarded him ponderously at that; if she could sense Arthur watching her with bated breath, she never acknowledged it as she said, undecidedly,

"You've been using your magic to save us, all this time?"

The contours of Merlin's face softened as he glanced quickly to Arthur, and then back to her.

"Yes," said he sincerely.

There was another, brief heartbeat of stillness, and then, to the mild startlement of both men, the young woman threw her arms around the manservant's neck with a joyous laugh.

"Thank you, Merlin."

Over her head, Merlin met Arthur's eyes. The bright blue of them sparkled, and the side of his mouth was quirked into a smile of pride at his brave and beautiful queen.

* * *

At nearly noon-day, when Gwaine saw Merlin practically skipping along beside Arthur across the courtyard, talking loudly and laughing as though the whole world was all right, he approached them carefully as he came to meet them on their way.

The two of them looked up at him, their beaming smiles fading with their conversation as he joined them, and then Merlin's smile returned in its full glory, and he did not wait for the knight to address him first before he wrapped his arms around Gwaine in a sudden—and surprisingly strong—embrace.

The dark-haired swordsman was startled into uttering a small gasp, and then Merlin had released him and was gazing at him with eyes like the cloudless sky.

Arthur remained wisely quiet from beside his sorcerer friend, and then Gwaine said the words which he had been waiting to speak for two days while Merlin lay sleeping.

"So, a warlock, eh? Think you could teach me a spell or two for conjuring mead—you know, just in case I'm ever lost in the woods and thirsting to death?"

Merlin threw his head back and laughed; Arthur sighed melodramatically and rolled his eyes at their friend. Gwaine slung his arm over Merlin's shoulder and led him in the midst of their other friends, who stood in a chuckling group at the far end of the courtyard. Arthur followed with good humor on his tolerant demeanor as Gwaine shouted with his typical grating comicality about how _"…the littlest creatures have the most fight in them, am I right?"_

* * *

When the evening rolled around, every knight in Camelot's army and every subject of its kingdom knew of the creature of sorcery now dwelling—and welcomed—within the castle's walls.

Arthur did not wait to address his people. Just before the sunset, he stood on the balcony above the yard and spoke to them with perfect balance between friend and sovereign, his honest and powerful voice echoing over the same ground where so many sorcerers had burnt to their deaths under the old Camelot's laws.

Gwen stood on his left side; Merlin stood on his right, and he held his breath without thinking as Arthur gestured to him and related his servant's tale to his beloved citizens.

Though Arthur did not demand their approval, he pleaded in his own way for their support and trust both in him, and in the compassionate and courageous warlock who had dedicated his very life to protecting them all.

By the next morning, the process had begun to repeal forevermore the laws damning sorcery.

* * *

**Three days later**

"_Hang on_!"

Merlin halted mid-step as he moved smoothly around the table of Arthur's room, his apparent grace countered by the awkward way he balanced their empty breakfast dishes in one hand; the wooden spoons knocking together as he attempted to keep them from tumbling to the floor at Arthur's sudden outburst.

"Does this mean," the king, who was just putting on a thin jacket to go out, nearly shouted in his impulse, "that when the Great Dragon was attacking Camelot…I didn't really deal him a blow at all, did I?"

Merlin thought back to that dark night, so many years ago, and laughed aloud, feeling freer than he could ever remember in the peace of the early morning air. He wondered how he could have kept silent for so long with the true joy filling him now as the two of them stood together in Arthur's rooms, and how he could ever have doubted the strength and love of their immortal friendship.

He pulled the dangerous stack of bowls and cups to his front so that he could better balance it, and wondered also why he had thought everything would be so different after his secret was revealed. There was nothing he could feel had been lost, but only so much gained, by the truth discovered.

"Yes, well," he said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his head with his free hand, "about the dragon, Arthur…"

"And when that Goblin possessed Gaius—that really _was_ your book of enchantments he found, wasn't it?"

"Ah…"

"And when the Witchfinder accused you of sorcery, he was telling the truth!"

"Now, that wasn't all my fault," Merlin defended himself hastily. "He really _was_ truly bad; he didn't even believe I had magic at all. He was just after Gaius. I may have overexaggerated the evidence just a bit…"

"Merlin!"

The younger man bit back the rest of his defense, and shrugged helplessly at the livid look on Arthur's face, which so quickly was washed away by verging hilarity.

"You have got a lot of explaining to do, _Mer_lin."

The sorcerer bit his lower lip.

"Yes, sire."

Arthur regarded him quizzically for another, brief moment, and then his expression changed as Merlin's eyes moved to look over his shoulder. The king sobered and turned, looking past his writing-table where sat the sealed documents which had removed all but the necessary sorcery laws from his kingdom, and followed his servant's gaze to the sunlight peering through the clear window. He watched it for a moment before turning his face back to his friend.

"It's a new day," said he quietly.

Merlin smiled and cast an enchantment to hold the dishes freely in the air.

**The End**

* * *

_There you have it, ladies and gentlemen (though mostly ladies...)! It may not be precisely what you were expecting, (and I'm slightly horrible with endings) but I liked the idea of it ending with Merlin doing exactly what he's been dying to do this whole time...to use his magic in front of Arthur, just for something little and meaningless, like dishes. I thought it was a way to counteract all the dark drama that's happened in the other chapters. Plus I like to highlight their casual friendship whenever I can; it's just so ridiculously endearing.  
Thanks so much for reading, and please let me know what you thought!_


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